Cups of Coffee Aizawa Shouta x Reader
by TodorokiYumi
Summary: [Aizawa Shouta x reader] A small robbery takes place at the local coffee shop you work at and just before hell breaks loose, a hero barges in to save the day like a cut-out cliche because all he desired was a cup of coffee to quench his thirst.
1. Chapter 1: Facade

**Chapter 1**

 **Facade**

You were not the type of person to mingle with others—especially huge clumps of people.

You specifically chose to linger by the sidelines like a bystander, with a silver tray clasped tightly to your chest; your e/c orbs briefly studied the hand motions of a group of high school students—their light laughs and gaggles—and you pursed your lips into a firm, straight line.

You, as well, used to mimic their clumsiness and naïve attitudes towards the world but that was a few years back as you were now a striving university student with a passion for architecture. School never consumed your time since the course was quite laidback and there were times you gave online courses a go when boredom knocked on your front door. And of course, you liked having lessons at your apartment—no blinding street lights with uncanny uproar in the blurry background.

Yes: that was simply how you were.

Adjusting the buttons adorning your white blouse, you straightened your posture and waited patiently for an order. You rarely had anything major to do except the usual: wiping tabletops and washing the glassware, but surprisingly today, business boomed vividly and your boss made sure you stayed on standby.

' _He just doesn't want me breaking anymore glasses,'_ you thought, tugging at the black lacy ribbon fastened at your collar.

The small coffee shop you currently worked at was satisfying enough with its standard retro appearance with its warm and cozy interior one could relax perfectly in. You usually snuck in night-shifts when you had nothing better to do and the frosty air at night was much more enjoyable than the stuffy breezes that swept by during scorching afternoons. Thankfully the shop had an a/c much to your content.

"Excuse me? We'd like to order now!"

You took a deep breath and exhaled, allowing your cheerful façade to dominate, "Of course! What will suit your tastes?" You trudged to the group of high school students you were eyeing earlier on, pausing at their table to jot down their orders.

"I'd love this strawberry cake," a bespectacled female apprised, her finger pointing down towards the menu, "and the rest would like the same thing with coffee." Nods were sent your way and you let the pen twirl on your notepad.

"Understood," you said sweetly, taking a few seconds to double-check the list, "Would you like any recommendations? I suggest the Sunday Parfait—it's really hot on the menu this season."

The female shook her head, "Perhaps we'll try that the next time we drop by, right?" She beamed brightly at her friends that merely agreed with her in a matter of moments, but you couldn't help but feel disappointed with yourself.

"Then I look forward to your next visit. Five strawberry cakes with five cups of coffee coming right up!" You whirled on your heels, marching off with heavy steps to the kitchen to handle the task and you were instantly greeted with one of your co-workers,

"Hi [Y/N]—working hard as always?"

Your lips curled upwards, "Hitomi, flattery won't get you anywhere." The man you addressed shrugged his shoulders in defeat, his back facing you as he dealt with the pastry set out in front of him, "I'm going to need five of those popular strawberry cakes of yours and another five cups of coffee."

"Young lads keep craving for some sugar nowadays," Hitomi whined like a cheeky child, "Alright, five cakes coming right up but do me a favor and make the coffee."

You let out a laugh, "We have a dispenser for that, you know." There was no way you were going to make coffee; the taste always rendered a person with utter foulness and once Hitomi spent a whole day in the bathroom because of god who knows what you dipped into the beverage.

"About that," he began, swallowing thickly as if there was a lump rising in his throat, "The dispenser broke and we're kind of short of hand at the moment."

"Hah?" You deadpanned with a hint of exasperation embedded in your tone, "Don't tell me you broke it _again_?"

Hitomi waved the butter knife in the air without the slightest intention of spinning around to view your deeply vexed expression, "You know how my Quirk is at times. Rosalina walked in on me at a bad timing and it accidentally activated on its own; little surprises always make me jump in fright."

You sighed, _'His super strength Quirk can be handy at times but I wish shock didn't trigger it.'_

"But I'm still not making coffee."

"Huh? Why?" The platinum blonde patisserie dabbed the creamy frosting coated with bubbly pink onto the cakes prior to whirling around, "Your coffee is the best!" You could definitely discern sarcasm in the older adult's voice, your lips bending into a little frown.

A sly smirk then crept onto your visage, "Alright. I'll make sure to include an extra cup for you as well. Make sure you stocked up a lot of toilet paper." Hitomi nervously shook his head, beads of sweat trickling down his face and you knew that you had claimed easy victory.

"On second thought, I think I'll handle the coffee," he chirped, and he hurriedly returned to task with you sliding a tray of Chinese teacups onto the counter full of various sweets and delicacies that could make a confectioner squeal in sheer delight.

Reaching your hand out, you snagged a round, chocolate chip muffin and took a bite out of it to satisfy the growling beast rampaging in your stomach. You weren't really a fan of chocolate, but the way it melted onto your tongue like fine, juicy syrup made your taste buds dance in merriment. You happily chewed; enjoying the smooth texture of the chocolate chips bounce against your tongue and the fluffiness of the darkened brown bread compelled you to desire more of the saccharine flavor, but Hitomi's grinning face disrupted your sense of bliss and you placed the half-eaten muffin back onto the counter.

"You sure you're not going to finish that?" He bemused, settling his hazel orbs onto your form.

You snarled in response, "I'd get sick to the stomach if I did."

"Harsh as always I see," Hitomi chuckled softly and silence seeped into the room after the chatter, your hands bawling into fists.

You weren't like this at all—this wasn't your _real_ self.

"I'm…heading outside for some fresh air," you informed, relieving yourself of the chalky apron that excruciatingly embraced your slim waist and Hitomi hummed in acknowledgment, too preoccupied with perfecting his pastry.

The air outside was cold but fresh and enlivening, the orange evening sky dimming at each passing minute and the rich green leaves of spring swayed side to side in the swift breeze caressing your face as you shut the back door. You didn't have a night-shift today, and you were to head home in another hour to complete a project for the next day. People often wondered if you were exhausted with the different shifts and the work university loaded onto your shoulders, but you were fine. And they didn't have to bother you anymore.

Stretching your arms in the air to relax your tensed muscles, your e/c eyes settled on a pitch black van perched on the sidewalk, not too far from your position and although it appeared to be ordinary, you couldn't help the frigid chills crawling up your spine. And a high pitched scream inside the shop pierced through your thoughts, answering your inquiries.

' _Ominous black vans are always suspicious, [Y/N!]'_

Stumbling to your feet as you burst through the door, more bloodcurdling wails and whimpers rang across the shop and you dived behind the marble counter to peer at the scene. A masked man held Hitomi from behind, an arm wrapped around the blonde's torso and the other holding a butcher knife close to Hitomi's throat, jittery fumbling inside of the terrified male.

How could all of this happen in such short time—in mere moments?

You could see the rise and fall of Hitomi's chest, desperately trying to gather a bundle of courage and calmness but he was still trembling like a scared child. A deep, hoarse voice echoed throughout the kitchen and Hitomi's captor relentlessly dragged the blonde away to the patron, the ghastly groan of the door flinging wide open. You were met with hushed whispers and murmurs in the opposite side of the shop, thinking that you were safe and sound; far away from the perpetrators.

But you were wrong.

Jolting upwards in fright, you felt fingers curl round your neck in splitting seconds and you were rammed against the tiles, a sudden weight planting itself onto your back as you helplessly coughed for air.

"Well what do we have here?" A gruff voice inquired in plain ridicule, "A waiter we failed to seize?"

Your captor seized you by the neck yet again, lifting your body up without any struggle like the light ragdoll you were. You cussed under your breath, black blurry dots painting your vision as your feet dangled above the floor. It was as if you were floating in midair, but you could still feel the male's large fingers coiling firmly round your neck. You could try putting your Quirk in action, but the question was: would it work?

"Mute, are we?" The male questioned with tease, taking huge, hefty footsteps as he proceeded to the door where his comrades were located, "Not that I care anyway. It'll be more pleasurable for me if you can't scream in agony as I trace my knife on your lovely skin." His hot breath tickled your ear and you didn't like it one bit.

Wriggling to escape his grip, you aimlessly kicked backwards to render an injury onto the male but he snickered in response, grinning from ear-to-ear at your pathetic struggle. He pushed the door open, and tossed you onto the floor like a worthless object near the squirming hostages. There were at least four of the masked man, each wielding a weapon as support—perhaps to aid their Quirk—and you bit your lip in aggravation, silently contemplating whether you should do something or suffer the aftermath of this regular robbery.

Hitomi was sprawled on the floor—uninjured to your avail—but he was as still as a statue, unconscious due to all the shock. Your eyes darted to Rosalina who held a shivering young boy on her lap, fear written all over her place and you were thankful that your other co-workers had left earlier than usual that day. Your boss? His whereabouts were none of your concern.

"Damn it," you breathed, taking note of the high school students cowering beside you and you felt a surge of urgency flood through your veins like thick blood.

You had to protect them, or at least reassure them in a way.

"Hey, look at all this cash! The boss was right to suggest this place—they're freakin' loaded!" One boomed, wrecking the cashier and scavenging through the drawers like a mindless fool.

Another pinched in, "Tie them up," his gaze fell upon you to your dismay as he scanned the crowd filled with terror, "Question her. She should know where the vault is?"

' _Do we even have a vault!?'_

"A 'righty, I'll do that." The male who had taken a liking to you before sprang to his feet, making his way towards you with a toothy smile, "Hey, mind telling me where the rest of the cash is, mute? I appreciate hand gestures too."

You spat in his face, aiming your shin for his chin as you bolted upright and you heard a crackling sound as your shin collided with the designated area you were hoping for it to hit. The masked male staggered to the floor, his chin smeared with vague blood and his companions drew out their weapons, completely surprised by the act of retaliation. They made a wrong choice to distance themselves from the hostages because if they didn't, then you would've been in a pickle.

"Bitch!" The bruised male hissed in frustration, charging straight at you with bloodshot eyes but he froze in his tracks, your Quirk finally taking control.

A swirl of blue mist encircled the perpetrators, ebony rays of shadows looming over the room as you stepped forward with impending doom. A haze drooped down onto them, engulfing their bodies in swift motion as their pupils bulged on the spot to the image piecing itself out together in front of them. An illusion swept them in its clutches, a towering beast with vicious fangs staring intently at them as you concentrated with all your might with precision.

It was tiring to cultivate a mass mirage of atrocity and with your lack of practice, the illusion wavered bit by bit but it seemed to terrify the evil doers.

The customers watched in amazement, wondering what you were doing to freeze the thieves in a single go. Only the victims of your Quirk and you, yourself, could witness the great illusion you created and you felt a wave of accomplishment—pride—wash over you. But these emotions were smashed once your concentration was disrupted, the hazy clouds of indigo dissipating into nothingness.

It was all for naught.

The four masked males regained their composure in a matter of seconds, "What the hell was that?"

"It was that damn woman's Quirk!"

You were done for.

One flung his weapon towards you in alacrity, his speed transcending your very own as you tumbled to your knees in search for safety. Some hero you were trying to be out there. He directed his knife towards your chest, shutting your eyes quickly since you did not want to see bloody crimson all over you.

But there was no pain.

Snapping your eyes wide open—as if in slow motion—crystalline shards blew past you with a rush of frosty wind hitting your bare neck as your ponytail flung forward, the color black hitting your vision as everything sped to life again and a loud thud could be heard as you scrambled to your feet in astonishment.

A male stood in front of you, striking black hair cascading down his shoulders as the wind forced itself inside the patron, the shattered window allowing access to the area. Your attacker was entangled in long strips of grey cloth, his knife kicked far away from him as possible. You gulped. Was he a hero?

"I finally have a day off to enjoy a cup of coffee and this is what I get," the black haired male grumbled, incredibly irritated by the events.

"W-who the hell are you!?" The wrapped up perpetrator demanded, his comrades shifting stances.

The black haired male heaved a tired sigh before tugging at the cloth, "Someone who's going to put you guys in your rightful place." He lunged forward, hauling the cloth towards his stature in promptness and his fist instantly collided with the face of his first victim, "Now whose next?"

The remaining three charged at him with roars, swinging their knives and daggers ridiculously like plastic toys and the black haired male retracted his cloths from the fainted victim, letting them coil round the fools as he spun them around. It was no ordinary cloth—it subdued them rather rapidly and the supposed hero shoved their weapons aside prior to landing blows across their faces to render them unconscious.

You watched in amazement; your orbs glowing with admiration.

He fished his phone out from his jumpsuit, pushing a few buttons, "Hello? This is Eraserhead calling; a planned-out robbery I suppose at Takashi-1 street: Sangaku Complex, 2-3-2." His dark orbs trailed over the people looking at him in the patron, including you, "Around fifteen victims. Send a medic in case of injuries, I'm going to check them now." He ended the call with a click and walked towards you in a sluggish manor.

"Are you hurt?" He mumbled, loud enough for you to hear and you bobbed your head up and down in confirmation, "Good."

"U-umm," you stammered, unaware of your sudden squeamish behavior, "Thank you." He stared at you for a brief moment, examining your smaller form, causing your cheeks to suddenly redden with embarrassment.

His mouth opened slightly, "You have glass in your hair." He motioned you to stay quiet as he picked out the shards from your messy hair—probably on par with his own and you could hear the sirens in the background drawing closer.

"T-Thank you," you stuttered once again, mentally scolding yourself for the abrupt change in character, but this was how you were in reality: a stuttering mess with cheekiness that you smothered in seriousness and cruelty. You normally used your Quirk to force a façade at work and at university, but right now it wasn't in action.

"Oh, I erased your Quirk on instinct."

' _Huh?"_

"You…erased my Quirk?"

The black haired hero blinked, "its back now. Can I place an order?" He groaned, dragging his feet to the remaining customers recovering from the scene, "One cup of coffee please."

You were utterly confused, but obediently scrambled to the kitchen where you got to work, not minding that whatever you whipped up in the process would be terrible. You set the single unfazed Chinese teacup with flowery embroidery onto the counter and tended at the task with hurry but your movements were dipped with gentleness, thoroughly reminding yourself that this was some sort of... thank-you gift to your savior.

Huffing at the outcome, you placed the cup on your tray as if it was a habit and scurried off into the patron that was now filled with policemen and medics paying attention to the other victims and you heaved a sigh of relief when your eyes settled on the conscious Hitomi who was now eyeing the damage done to the shop with a grief-stricken expression.

You chuckled.

"Is that for me?" Your ears perked up at an unexpected mumble and you spun round to see the hero that had helped you.

"Thank you," he quirked a brow in puzzlement, "I mean, y-yes. It's a thank you gift I guess?"

The black haired hero scooped the teacup up with delicacy, stealing a quick sip of the coffee, "Not bad." He didn't seemed to mind the scorching hot temperature of his beverage; in fact, he liked how the bitterness and heat merged with one another.

You really weren't expecting that comment, and your face flushed.

He carefully placed the cup back onto your tray with a ghost of a smile, "Well, thanks for the coffee and sorry about the place. See ya." The hero arched his body forward, but you leaped in front of him with your arms stretched on either side.

"Wait! Your name?"

He let out a small grunt, "Eraserhead."

"Isn't that your hero name? I meant your actual name," you evidently stated, but all you got in reply were mumbles and annoyed groans.

"That's all you need to know."

He disappeared amidst the clatter of policemen and one latched at you with questions which you had to oblige in answering, but something inside of you sparked with intensity and you just knew that you had to see this "Eraserhead" once more.

* * *

Author's note: This is my first fan fic in quite a long while so I hope you all don't mind the mistakes and such. Comments are appreciated very much and don't hesitate to drop by an opinion.

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: Flowers

**Chapter 2**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Flowers**

* * *

Summary: Curiosity gets the best of you and you try to contact 'Eraserhead' so you could make sense of the sparkling feeling in your chest and perhaps you'd receive...flowers in the end?

[f/f] = favorite flower

Notes: Short chapter compared to the first. Comments are much appreciated. Question of the day: who is your favorite hero in Boku no Hero Academia?

* * *

You blinked your eyes rather sluggishly, adjusting to your slightly dim room that was adorned in small rays of light peeking through the curtains. An irritated groan escaped your lips. The events from last night flooded your mind as you rolled off the bed, kicking the sheets off in the process. You were feeling quite muzzy due to the lack of sleep—the policemen persisted with their questioning and the medics decided to check if you were alright, thus your morning grogginess.

Dragging your feet to the washroom to freshen up a bit, you lazily fumbled through your toiletries and stared at the mirror with droopy eyes. You always got a decent amount of sleep, though there were occasions when you didn't and last night was one of those peculiar occasions. You heaved a tired sigh, dipping your head into the sink bowl and allowed the cold water to trickle down your h/c hair to the nape of your neck.

"Eraserhead," you mumbled, the stentorian sound of water gushing above you silencing your audible mumbles.

Retracting your head back from the icy bliss pounding against your scalp, you fished out your toothbrush and dabbed it with the dental paste, brushing away in flurry as you studied your facial features once more. Your skin appeared to be much paler than before, and waves of exhaustion washed over you—the unfortunate side of your Quirk. Sure you could construct monstrous mirages of horrifying beasts that could paralyze one with fear but it drained your energy after putting it into practice and you did not like feeling extremely wary.

Forcing an illusion to fake a facade was much easier and simpler; it didn't require a lot of your energy in the end. But it was effortlessly broken down by a mere stranger who knew nothing about you—in trifling seconds!

You snapped out of your trance and rinsed your mouth prior to returning to your bedroom where your art project awaited you on your desk, unfinished structure designs scribbled onto the large A3 paper. You let out a small curse under your breath; you completely forgot about your work and it was due later that afternoon. Dropping your weight onto the chair, you scanned through the art piece and brushed the excessive pencil shavings off that still lingered on your paper from the last time you worked on it. The project was straightforward: draw the different elevations of an ordinary house with proper labeled measurements—piece of cake. But right now, you didn't feel like twirling your pencil.

Your mind was too preoccupied with last night's events and the mysterious hero: Eraserhead.

Your chest felt awfully hefty, and somehow something bubbly flared inside of you at the memory of the bedraggled black haired hero that had helped you—perhaps it was swelling admiration. You admitted that he was quite cool the way he coiled the cloth round his victims in expertise and they way he handled the situation with ease, just like a professional. You chuckled to yourself: he _already_ was a professional.

Unknowingly, your hands shoved your project aside as you rested your head against the smooth texture of your desk, drawing quick breaths to soothe yourself.

You tried to do something heroic last night, with your weak Quirk and you couldn't fathom your mixed emotions at that time. You had an intense desire to aid the cowering customers shrouded in a thick fog of fear and for the first time, you felt that you could actually _do_ something to help others instead of helping yourself.

You wanted to prove to the people of the past that you weren't worthless.

But at the last straw, your efforts were dashed and shattered before you could feel a sense of triumph course through your veins—you never got to hear the delightful 'thank yous' you wanted to hear after you won; selfish weren't you?

Not entirely.

You groaned yet again; this time in starvation. Bolting from your seat to raid the kitchen, your e/c orbs settled on the empty contents of the refrigerator and your stomach growled at the sight, ravenous for a meal. From the looks of things, you had to head out into town. And you detested the deafening noise of the passing cars with the harsh sunlight beating down onto the busybodies of several emerging from towering skyscrapers However, before you could change clothes and wear an appropriate attire a buzz caught your attention and your eyes flickered to your phone perched on the bedside table.

Picking it up, you muttered, " _Hitomi,_ what happened?"

"Nothing actually. I just called 'cause boss wanted to relay some information onto you," the platinum blonde answered, a cough stifling his words.

"Boss?" You knitted your brows, "did he show up after yesterday?"

You heard a nervous laugh on the opposite end, "He arrived early this morning and I had to explain everything to him in detail but you know, I blacked out and he wants you to recite your point of view."

"Why does he want to know all that? Can't he just ask the police?"

"I don't know," Hitomi said in hushed whispers, "but I don't want to get on his bad side for asking. He said you can drop by in your free time but sometime this week."

"Alright," you agreed, taking a minute to pause, "how about work? Do I still have to come in to fill my shifts?"

Hitomi began to laugh hysterically, his voice crackling on the phone, "Of course not! The place's wrecked. We have a lot of things to get fixed and boss isn't too happy with the outcome of the robbery. Good thing that hero appeared just in the nick of time—we could have been goners!"

You didn't answer right away, recalling the breathtaking instant when you heard the sharp shrieking of the glass window bursting into crestfallen crystals when your attacker nearly dug his knife into your chest: you really were lucky.

"Yeah," you managed to utter, "could you let me know if we're back in business?"

"Sure!"

"Then I'll guess I'll see you when I show up at the shop. Send the boss my regards."

"Gladly," you swore you could see the blonde's Cheshire grin even if he was blocks away, "I heard that you did a pretty amazing job at handling those thieves. Good job by the way."

"Oh."

A faint smile crept onto your lips, a tiny speck of euphoria lighting itself in your heart—maybe you were wrong. As you twiddled with your fingers, an idea popped up in your head and you decided to break the uncanny silence,

"Hitomi, did you get the chance to speak with that hero who saved us?"

"Huh?" Hitomi said in puzzlement, "Oh, you mean Aizawa-san right? Man, that was a huge shock! I didn't expect him to be the one to save us. He checked up on me after I woke up; that stubborn mule is still lazy." A flame of curiosity kindled brilliantly inside of your chest: how on earth did Hitomi know him?

"His name is... Aizawa?" You murmured quietly to yourself, "Are you two friends?"

The blonde baker let out a surprised squeal, "What's this? Dear [Y/N]-chan wants to know about a person? Cue the confetti! The world is finally changing!" Chirpy titters echoed through the phone line.

"Ha ha, very funny." You shrugged nonchalantly at the man's childish behavior. "I just want to thank him again for what he did, nothing more so don't get any wrong ideas. Do you have his number or a way to contact him in any case?"

'Not that I know of. We just know each other from Junior High and all and he used to drop by for some coffee before you started working. I guess his hero work kept him occupied 'cause he hasn't swept in for quite a long time. You shouldn't bother yourself with him that much—he doesn't like attention."

You found this amusingly bizarre. Normally a hero would want the glimmering attention with the media swarming behind like buzzing bees, but that didn't seem the case with this 'Aizawa.'

"Okay, well thanks for calling. I have to go to the store to get some grub," you appraised, a tinge of disappointment clinging to your disheartened words.

Hitomi reverberated cheerfully in response, "Then I'll see you later this week! Have a nice day, [Y/N]!"

The phone clicked with its usual annoying beep and you buried it inside your handbag prior to striding to your closet in search for attire. A plain turquoise shirt with a pair of denim shorts should do the trick, right? Wrestling your work sneakers onto your feet, you tugged at the fluffy jacket hugging your figure and flung the door wide open, stepping outside your apartment to relinquish in the sheer frostiness of the chill morning. Mornings were always cold—regardless of the cozy warmth spring basked the mossy green leaves in comfort. You locked the door and made your way down the fleet of stairs, ignoring, for once, the gloomy air you usually put yourself in.

""Good thing I brought my jacket," you purred, raising the collar a bit higher.

You continued with a slow pace along the pavements, your pockets jingling with coins from a previous purchase. The convenience store was in sight, its bright red and blue neon lights on the sign illuminating the slightly darkened area bit by bit and you fished out your phone, glancing at the time. '06:30' am it read, and you grunted, shoving it back inside your bag. Considering the time you woke up, you had plenty of time to have a decent breakfast, finish your art project and return it by the afternoon—perfect.

The glass doors slid ajar and you walked in casually, but your e/c orbs did not fail to steal a glance at your untidy bundle of hair curled into a bun and a small frown crept onto your face. However, you were too fatigued to even bother with it; food, my dear friend, was much more important than appearance. As you ambled through the stacked shelves of snacks, you thought you saw familiar locks tinted with dark black in the corner of your eye and forgetting your true purpose of scavenging for breakfast, you followed the male through the store.

You could've set up a quick illusion to hide your presence, but you had a feeling that the hero would have definitely noticed you with or without your Quirk in action.

His movements skid to a halt—his dark grim eyes scanning through the store and you felt his harsh glare pierce through you as he spotted you, his mouth slowly opening,

"Are you... stalking me?"

You jerked from your hiding spot, flailing your arms in the air in denial, "Of course not! I-I just have something to say to you!" Your face was once again flushed with embarrassment like the previous night, stammers hindering your speech.

"Then why didn't you come straight up to me?" The black haired male loosened his grip on the plastic bag he was holding, "You're the girl from last night, right?" You nodded at his question. "Did you forget to say something last night?"

"Um, thank you again for helping me—no, for helping everyone at the coffee shop. I'm, uh, really grateful for what you did so," you bowed deeply, bungling for words to express your gratitude, "Is there something I can do to repay you?" You found it funny how your personality seemed to change in swift moments.

Eraserhead continued to stare you down, completely unsure of what to do with you. He certainly never had someone come directly at him with appreciation that wasn't the mass media with their aggravating flashing cameras and mouths that could spout lies in seconds. He shifted, bringing his free hand to tousle his black locks.

"How about I walk you home? You're kinda attracting attention."

You lifted your head up and noticed a few people stopping in their tracks to peer at what you were doing, "S-sorry. That's fine, I guess? But thank you again."

"There's no need to thank me," he groaned, ushering you to follow him, "I just did what a hero would do at a time like that." He stated it with ease, ignoring the fact that it was quite a big deal for you.

"But you saved my life, Aizawa-san."

"How did you- wait, you're friends with Tashikawa right?" Aizawa grumbled as he referred to Hitomi, knowing all-too well about the platinum blonde's gigantic, blabbering mouth.

You let out a giggle, "That's Hitomi for you."

The two of you halted at the cashier, the black haired male paying for his items and you stepped to the side to admire him from the sidelines—the place where you rightfully belonged in life. His hair was clearly in a mess like yours and his face was disheveled, your eyes settling on the black jumpsuit he was dressed in. As soon as he finished and stepped out of the store, you tackled him with a bemused question,

"Why are you still wearing your hero outfit?"

Aizawa noted with a low grunt, "Why are you pesky?" You let out a small huff in response.

"Just trying to make a conversation," you said, kicking the pebbles in your path as you walked alongside him and he merely groaned.

"You don't have to force yourself to talk to me. I'm fine with silence along the way," he informed you, wondering why he even offered to walk you home.

"No, I want to speak to you," you admitted rather bluntly without hesitation, "There's something about you that I can't put aside."

Aizawa's eyes widened ever so slightly, "You're pretty bold, aren't you?" It was around then that your face flared in deep scarlet upon realization, and you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Well," you began, "I'd be lying if I denied it. It's just that... last night you said something strange and it caught my of guard I suppose," he shot you a confused look and you pressed on, "You said you erased my Quirk—you erased the illusion I created around myself and I don't know. It's the first time that happened and I wanted to know more about you and if it had something to do with your Quirk. I'm sorry, I'm ranting too much."

"No, it's fine," Aizawa replied dully, "my Quirk is called 'Erasure' and I can erase a person's Quirk by looking at them. I think my Quirk was still in action when I looked at you."

Unbeknownst to you, the speed you two were walking at increased and the muffled sound of tapping engulfed your ears and thoughts, drowning out any possible reasoning.

"So your Quirk allows you to make illusions?" He inquired, observing how you suddenly felt agitated at the mention of your ability.

"Yeah, I can create mirages and illusions; small or big, but it requires a lot of my energy so I don't bother creating large threatening ones," you explained with a wave gesture, "Like this." You focused on your right hand that was hovering in front of you and in an instantaneous second, a thin string of black floated in a swirly pattern which ignited blazing blue flames on the tip of your fingertips and subsequently, it dissipated into thin air. In a blink of an eye, a bloody mask popped up and Aizawa couldn't deny that it startled him.

"Sorry, did it startle you?"

He shook his head in denial, "it's an interesting Quirk."

"I don't think so," you let out a raspy laugh, "it only works well if the user and victim concentrate on the area being used to construct the illusion. The mirages I create relies on the atmospheric conditions so I don't put it in practice that much. Plus, the maximum victims I can accommodate for are five. It's not that great."

"But if you practice then you could do it on a larger scale," Aizawa told you with tiny grumbles in his tone.

"That's the problem, I don't want to."

He scoffed at your answer, focusing on the giant steps he took forward as silence seeped in. You didn't really want to dwell on yourself—you wanted to know more about him instead. While you were falling into deep thought, Aizawa had stopped at a flower stall located right near your apartment, oblivious to his surroundings that this was your stop. You reached out to nudge his shoulder, but he spun round with a bouquet of [f/f], facing you with a monotone expression.

"Here," he motioned, "you seemed gloomy so I did the first thing that came to my mind. Women like flowers, right?"

You looked at him with wide eyes, disbelief written on your facial expression, "Y-yeah, but you didn't have to buy me a bouquet to the very least. I'm just a stranger to you anyway." Aizawa pushed the flowers to you and you had no choice but to receive it.

"I don't think we're strangers anymore," his locks swayed side to side in the small morning breeze, "your name?"

"[Y/N]," you uttered, a faint blush adorning your cheeks—probably from the sudden heat emitted from the rising sun in the blurry sky, "[L/N] [Y/N]."

Aizawa raised his free hand and waved as he trudged away from the flower stall, his back shrinking in size as he disappeared into the distance. You clutched the bouquet of flowers tightly to your chest, the sweet aroma of your favorite flowers flooding your nostrils. He didn't even know they were favorite flowers and gave it to you anyway.

And you couldn't help the tiny smile tugging at your lips in content.


	3. Chapter 3: Contact

**Chapter 3**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Contact**

* * *

Summary: It's nice to kick back and relax to relinquish in the snugly heat during an afternoon shower, but you find yourself enjoying the warmth with a special someone.

Notes: A short chapter filled with a bit of fluff.

* * *

Sitting with your feet crossed under the round table, your e/c hues settled on the clear translucent vase of [f/f]s and unbeknownst to you, your thumb was tracing the lamina of one of the rich green leaves poking out here and there. But you were much more bedazzled by the canvas of alluring colors dabbing the tiny petals. They were absolutely beautiful—a huge smile smacked across your face.

It had been a day since you last encountered Aizawa, recalling the short yet memorable conversation between the two of you. He was more or less easy to strike a typical conversation with him, despite the fact he drowned his words in irritated groans and mumbles most of the time. The bedraggled black haired male didn't seem to mind his shady and disheveled appearance—it was more like he took a liking to it. Throwing a hand in your hair, you scrambled to your feet and ambled towards your bedroom, your ears perking at a familiar buzz.

Pressing your index finger on your screen, your brows quirked up at something strange. You had received a message, but the number was unregistered in your contacts, thus thrusting you into a minor state of confusion. You paused; you swore that if it was a prank message from the two obnoxious brats living two floors down, then they would have a lot to pay. In the weekends, when you usually spent an ample time at your apartment, they would ring you up and snicker like a pair of clowns in the background to vex you. Although you had a petite talk with their mother, they remained as annoying as ever. It was not like you had anything against them—you perfectly understood their childish gimmicks but it did tend to get out of hand.

Nevertheless, you still felt the need to thwack their heads.

"Good thing I finished my project before they disturbed," you sighed, your finger gliding across the screen.

The message popped open, revealing a simple, small text and a name along with it that somehow made your heart flutter as if there were newly morphed butterfly struggling to break free from their silky cocoon. Biting your lip, you proceeded with reading it:

 **Hey, [L/N] right? It's Aizawa, the guy you stalked the day before.**

If you were drinking water, then you would have already been helplessly choking on it, your cheeks dusted with embarrassment. He just had to mention that.

 **Is it okay if I drop by? I'm in the neighborhood and it's pouring. No umbrella with me.**

 **Thanks, see ya.**

Your brain took a lot of time to process what was happening, especially the way he casually texted you like you were suddenly his best bud-in-the-making. More importantly, how on Earth did he snag your number? That was at the top of your list with other questions cramming closely together from underneath, but you couldn't deny that you felt an ounce of content brimming inside of you like a candle lit fire. It was fairly small but nevertheless, you were undoubtedly happy that the black haired hero was dropping by.

Tossing your phone onto the cream colored sheets, you peered at yourself in the slanting mirror in front of you, contemplating on whether you appeared decent or not. Your ponytail was untidy and unkempt, tresses sticking out from different areas but you queered that Aizawa would look much neater than you were. He reminded you of cat with his slanted smiles and his peculiar behavior—the male was a bucket of unknown surprises, not even comparing to a Jack-In-the-Box that could cause a little startle.

Stealing a glimpse at the round clock perched on your desk, you took note that it was slightly past twelve in the afternoon and you were instantly reminded that you had to engulf yourself in the kitchen sooner or later before the ravenous beast within could consume you. You weren't aware of the heavy downpour outside; the serene pit-pat against your window rendering you au courant with Mother Nature's plans for the cozy afternoon. You, in fact, liked the grim puffs of clouds covering the once bright blue sky and the soothing sound it provided calmed you immensely. It was a also delight to sleep under the duvet with the cool chill!

"Coming!" Chanting while humming a dulcet tune, you hurriedly headed towards the door at the sound of the doorbell. Unlocking it with a snapping click, a mop of wet black hair instantly came into your sight, "Aizawa-san!"

The said male breathed a sigh, waiting for you to usher him inside with expectant eyes and you did so, watching him tear off his muddy boots that accompanied his soggy attire, "...Sorry for intruding."

You led him inside, pointing towards your round coffee table positioned in the fairly large sitting room. You didn't want him to soak your couch and you scrambled off in search for a towel. Returning from your 'quest', you shyly handed it to him with a nervous expression.

"Thanks," he said dully, accepting the towel.

"May I ask why you're soaking wet?" You questioned, observing his movements as he dried his dampened locks without meeting your gaze, "Hey, answer my question."

He opened his mouth, "I was on patrol and _this_ happened as a result of my idling." Aizawa rolled his eyes, replying you with plain answers.

"That doesn't explain much," you repeated his action, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly with a mocking smirk, "If you're going to be rude, then hand me back my towel."

The older male shot you a glare, knitting his brows, "...No."

His blunt refusal astonished you for a moment, pondering on why he was suddenly acting like an impudent child. You flashed a sly smirk towards his direction, your hands snaking round the towel draped round his head and you immediately tweaked it with a victory cry, causing the male to flinch.

"Mind your manners. You're in my house with my towel on my chair, so please be on your best behavior, Aizawa-san," you mused, your fingers twiddling with the fabric, "If you want it then you're going to have to fight for it."

Aizawa bore an impassive look, though his chapped lips curled lightly into a playful smile, "I'm not a kid."

You huffed, "Says the one who's acting like one in the first place."

"Says the stalker."

The both of you burst into a cackle, low but lighthearted as the rain beat down on the pavements outside as warmth from the heater seeped into the room, your cheeks flaring with vibrant peach. Merriment bubbled inside of you and you wondered why you were feeling like this—an emotion foreign to you.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a sneeze caught your attention and you faced Aizawa whose face was completely flushed.

"...Sorry about that. Could you pass me the towel?"

"Are you alright? You look a bit pale," you inquired with a hint of concern, passing him the towel once more.

The black haired male shook his head, the tips of his black strands dripping with water, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"You're being pesky again," Aizawa grumbled, sneezing adorably once more while covering his face, "You shouldn't worry about a stranger like me."

A soft smile crept on your lips, "Last time I checked, you said we weren't strangers or do you want me to recite what you told me the other day while you gave me those flowers?"

His dark orbs studied your for prolonging seconds as if you were a rare specimen before his very eyes, your own discerning the darkened folds adorning the skin under his tired eyes. He certainly looked like he didn't get enough sleep, the redness in the yolk of white in his droopy eyes depicting exhaustion. Moving closer to him, you placed a hand on his forehead, brushing past his bangs. His skin felt feverish; exceptionally hotter than average human temperature.

"You're sick. No wonder you needed a place to rest," you muttered, albeit loud enough for him to hear.

He grumbled, tearing his eyes off your stature, "...I told you I'm fine."

You chuckled at his weak demeanor, "Your body says otherwise. Now scoot to the couch, I'll go fetch a pillow and blanket in the meantime. How does a warm cup of coffee sound for you? Or do you want a shower?"

You steadied yourself properly, whirling on your heels to leave the ill male to himself but just as you were about to move, a force yanked you backwards and you whipped your head round to see Aizawa's hand tugging at your loose shirt. Compared to the serious and tremendous aura he presented during the robbery, he looked drowsy and feeble, his cheeks coated with scarlet.

"You... don't have to trouble yourself..." he mumbled, his grip tightening as time ticked by, "I'll leave."

Uncurling his fingers from your shirt, you teasingly scolded him, "I don't mind. You helped me so I want to help you in return and you're going to get worse if you leave so I insist."

Nothing was uttered out of Aizawa's lips as he watched you leave, his vision a bit hazy from the cold. He didn't like this—burdening someone else with his problems. He didn't mean to end up at your doorstep, but his head was spinning in wild circles and he felt so sick that he couldn't properly support himself long enough to stand. He barely managed to tap away at his phone to relay a message to you, let alone think through with what he was even doing. The black haired hero was patrolling the streets, although he preferred his nightly patrols in which he could take small strolls while enjoying the frosty ten o'clock breeze slapping his cheeks.

He stumbled to his feet, dragging himself to your couch with staggers in his steps and fell face-flat onto the soft texture hitting his face. He heaved a content sigh, pure relief as he felt something being dropped onto him without effort and one eye popped open, watching you carefully.

"Here you go. Nice and comfy!" You exclaimed with a chirp, surprising Aizawa with your gaiety. Were you always like this at home?

"I told you I'm fine."

"Are you still on about that?" You laughed, unfazed by his ludicrous bluntness as you lifted his head to slip the pillow underneath, "Are you feeling a bit better?"

"A bit."

Tousling his messy hair with the towel, you poked his cheek, "now, I have something that I have to ask you. Who gave you my number?" Chills slithered down his back at the sudden change of your tone, a nervous bead of sweat trickling down his forehead which you wiped away.

If he wasn't so ill then perhaps he would've been poise about his current situation.

"Taka...hashi..." he grumbled with a cough, hindering his speech.

"Taka-who?"

He chewed on the inside of his mouth, debating whether he should spill the beans or not and when he remained silent throughout the five minutes you were patiently waiting, you brought your hand forward with a devious grin.

" _Aizawa-san,_ who gave you my number?" Threatening blue flames kindled on your palm—it was merely an illusion but they still looked horrifyingly menacing to one's eyes. Aizawa blinked sluggishly, prior to shutting his eyes as he dozed off into slumber.

"Aizawa-san!"

"Let me sleep..." he groaned in response, shifting into another comforting position as he faced his back towards you. He heard you wail, most likely fuming like a boiling kettle and the corner of his lips bent upwards.

Somehow, he didn't mind the warmth you radiated as you stayed close to his sleeping form with a grumpy expression adorning your visage.

* * *

 _Hello readers! Hope you all are enjoying the story so far! I'd like to know what you guys think of this chappy tehe~ and question of the day:_

 _Who is your favorite U.A. student?_

 _I love Shouto so he steals first place! What about you guys? :D_


End file.
